J TITIAN. A ROMANCE OF VENICE. R. SHELTON MACKENZIE, LL.D. " Che non avea creduto che 1'arte potesse giungere a tanto, e che solo Tiziano era degno del norae di Pittore." MICHAKr. AXCEI-O. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 1843. SIR EDWARD LYTTON BULWER, BART. AS TO A MASTER IN THE ART, THIS ROMANCE IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATE]). 2203130 PREFACE. A SPECIES of romance has lately been pro- duced by some Continental writers, of which, hitherto, we have scarcely had any specimen in English literature. This is the Art-Novel, which permits the blending of the Ideal and the Real, in no ordinary degree, being based upon circumstances not only romantic and picturesque in themselves, but rendered addi- tionally so by their connexion with the fortunes of some of the illustrious who, by pen or pen- cil, have achieved renown. One brilliant example of this class has been produced by the highly imaginative lady who writes under the name of GEORGE SAND. In " Les Maitres Mosaistes" she has boldly and very effectively introduced the great Titian, and James Robusti (better known as Tinto- retti), with Sebastian Zuccati, and his eminent Vlll PREFACE. sons Francesco and Valerio. Perhaps our nearest approach to the kind of fiction of which " Les Maitres Mosa'istes" may be con- sidered the chef-d'oeuvre, is the truthful and thrilling romance which MR. CHARLES WHITE- HEAD has recently published, entitled "Richard Savage" a work in which the mind of the hero is laid bare with stern fidelity, a work in which are admirably blended high imagina- tion, accurate research, just conception of cha- racter, true delineation of manners, and pathos the most touching because the most natural. In the following Romance, the design has been to produce an Art-Novel, and, as such, "Titian" is presented to the public. Few biographies present more varied and interest- ing incidents than those of the Great Italian Painters ; and the career of Titian, the head of the brilliant Venetian School, particularly struck me, (long before I contemplated writing about him, in the present form,) as capable of being illustrated in the manner I have now attempted. To trace the progress of a great mind, through its many hard struggles against ad- PREFACE. IX verse circumstances to show with what diffi- culties it contended, what perseverance it exercised, what aspirations it cherished, what energies it put forth to exhibit its undeviating application, amid doubt, neglect, and even positive wrong, to the great aims for which it battled to show its onward path from ob- scurity to fame, in which, like a star shooting across the heavens, it left a long track of glorious light behind to manifest its constancy of purpose, its trustful patience, amid all the " sickness of hope deferred," and its great, yet unboasting, exultation when the triumph came, the more welcome for the very delay and doubt such I contemplated as among the capabilities of the subject, and such, how- ever short I may have fallen in my execution, formed the main portion of my design. Nor was I unwilling, while thus exhibiting a few scenes from the life of Titian, to touch, however lightly, upon the glorious Art which he so thoroughly mastered which, in these later days, has found so many and success- ful Adepts in our own land. The temp- X PREFACE. tation was strong, also, to cast ray story in that picturesque City of the Sea which wit- nessed so many of the mighty Painter's tri- umphs, which was honoured with his constant residence, which contains so many glorious proofs of his exhaustless genius and unrivalled skill, which cherishes his memory as one of her greatest boasts, and preserves, after the lapse of nearly three eventful and changeful centuries, the very pencil, palette, and picture which he last touched, even as he left them. The man the art the scene the time tempted me to write, and in the work which I have written, though the form be that of Fiction, the sub- stance draws its elements from Facts. In a few instances, I have added references to the sources whence particular statements have been de- rived, but have thought it better not to load my pages with notes, assured that they are not requisite for those who know the history of the time and the biography of the man, while the general reader might think them rather an incumbrance, as checking the course of the story. PREFACE. XI Some of the machinery which I have used may appear fanciful, as indeed it is: but As- trology and its attendants were among the cha- racteristics of the age and' clime, and therefore the writer of .Romance is at liberty to avail himself of them. MB. CABLYLE says, in his " Life of Schiller/' that the history of Genius has, in fact, its bright side as well as its dark. In this story of Titian I have endeavoured to exhibit both phases to show the struggles which, unless the Painter had been sustained by a principle stronger than the mere love of fame, might have led to despair or terminated in sin, and to record the course of the ultimate triumph which, subdued and chastened by the same high principle, preserved his mind from the arrogance begotten by success upon less noble natures, and only urged him on to yet loftier Emulation. FEB. 2, 1843. TITIAN. CHAPTER I. Man's life is but a voyage. By the shore Of sunny youth, his barque awhile doth float 'Till comes the fresh'ning of the breeze and tide And sends it far abroad. There with the waves It buffets bravely holds its constant course, Despite of lull or tempest passes ships Of statelier size and sail is left itself Far, far behind by little tiny boats One scarce would trust upon a waveless lake, Reaches the port of Age, with battered hulk, (If it escape the hidden rocks which make The sea of Time most dangerous), and, at last, Its broken planks bestrew the rugged strand '. Happy, methinks, are they who glide between The banks of some fair river, nor speed forth Dallying with danger on life's troubled sea. IT was a lovely day in the autumn of the year 1507, on the Brenta might be seen The common ferry Which trades to Venice, a large and commodious barge, towed by VOL. I. B TITIAN. mules, and gliding slowly down the sluggish stream. The passengers were many. There were merchants from Germany, France, and various parts of Italy, going to make their market in Venice, then the great entrepot for the rich products of the East ; there sat the rich Jew from the Guidecca, scorning those who scorned him, but bearing, in humility of speech and aspect, " the badge of all his tribe " there was the dark-eyed, dark-haired, and ruddy contadina, from Lombardy, full of quick smiles and mirthful movements ; there was the citta- dina, too proud to seem pleased with any- thing ; there were a brace of Carmelites re- turning to their monastery, with a precious array of relics from Terra Firma ; there were mercenaries in the service of St. Mark, holding hot converse on the merits of an arquebuse, with a lock of a new construction, which one of them had brought with him from Milan ; there were children, rich in the charms and happy in the joyousness of infancy, loudly TITIAN. 6 anticipating the wonders which a first visit to the Piazzetta was to show them ; add to these some half score sailors, who, having spent their money on land, v/ere proceeding with empty pockets and light hearts to seek ships at Venice, and some idea may be formed of the various classes who composed the forty or fifty passengers on board that ferry-boat. The costumes were as contrasted as the occupations of these people. The cittadina, keeping aloof from all contact with her chance companions, could not resist her sex's vanity, but even to their gaze displayed the richness of her robe of velvet, and the flashing brilliancy of her jewelled ornaments. Far more gaudy in attire, but less tasteful, were the peasant girls in their many-hued festive habits, and with their happy festive smiles. The children, too, were decked by parental pride in garments of the gayest and brightest colours. In contrast with these were the dark cloaks of the mer- chants ; the grey robes of the monks ; the yellow gabardine and red hat of the Jew, B2 4 TITIAN. (which were the distinguishing badges the law compelled him to wear), the glittering half- mail of the mercenaries, and the careless, but not unbecoming attire of the seamen. All of these, grouped picturesquely, would form a study for the painter fond of the striking effect produced by strong and harmonious contrast. Although the distance from Padua to Lizza Fusina is little more than twenty miles, the ferry was some hours in accomplishing it. Therefore, while with frequent pauses for the purpose of taking in passengers, the boat slowly proceeded down the Brenta, the voyagers had both time and opportunity to form that brief but pleasant acquaintance, which sometimes terminates in mutual esteem and friendly regret. After a time, the foreign merchants consulted the Venetian Jew upon some question of commerce, and speedily were deep in discussion with him, on the mysteries of usance and exchange. The peasant girls laughed and jested with each other for a time, in the happy exuberance of youthful TITIAN. 5 mirth. The Carmelites talked together of the wonders of their respective supply of relics, and then, more anxiously and seriously, began to conjecture what the energetic character of the new Pontiff, Julius the Second, might be likely to undertake and effect for the advance- ment of the Church's temporal interests. The soldiers variously disposed themselves some over the cheap wine of the country, discussed the merits of Bayard, the latest living flower of chivalry, arid murmured at the continuance of peace ; others, according to the prescriptive custom of all idle warriors, busied themselves in the laudable duty of flirting with the pretty villagers, whose looks of irrepressable coquetry seemed to challenge as a right what it was ap- parent they enjoyed as a pleasure. And a few weather and war beaten veterans who had fought under Trivulzi, when Charles VIII of France had invaded Italy, some years before, gravely and doubtfully spoke respecting the Emperor's Maximilian's recent demand of a free passage through the territory of Venice, 6 TITIAN. on the pretence of wishing to go to Rome, there to receive from the sacred hand of the Holy Pontiff, the iron crown of the Caesars. The Brenta, ere it mixes its waters with the sea, flows on from Padua between banks which, three centuries ago, (the epoch of our tale), were crowned with rows of stately poplars, and dark cypresses. The vines luxuriantly and greenly twined around the trees, pensile from branch to branch for Nature, in a sportive moment, had exercised her fancy to produce festoons more graceful and beautiful than the imitative skill of art could present. On the banks, we might almost say on the very water itself, were beds of mint and patches of the multi-coloured Iris. Here and there grew tall reeds and yellow osiers, bending to each breath of wind, amid which some aquatic fowls had made their nests. But the greatest ornaments by the B rentals side were the majestic willows, of immense and luxuriant growth, just dipping their drooping branches in the water. The country through which the Brenta TITIAN. 7 passes, ere ib glides into the Venetian Lagunes, is a level campaign, which was then highly cultivated, as its fruitful vineyards, and fer- tile fields abundantly and beautifully evidenced. On either side were frequent villages, thickly inhabited. Beside these, even then, (for the greater number of stately erections which Palladio built, and Paul Veronese embellished, belong to a later period), even then, there were many palaces rich in marble and mosaic, with splendid gardens in which graceful fountains and beautiful statues alternated with clustering groups of orange and myrtle trees, breathing perfume into the air. But to the eye and mind of the contemplative observer there appeared, as something far lovelier than the cultivated beauty of the country, or the rich splendour of the palaces the richer beauty of the gaily dressed peasantry, who, (for it was the glowing vintage season), joined in and made the festi- vities which, at that genial time, are still gene- ral throughout the south of Europe. The palaces have lost much of the beauty which they 8 TITIAN. then wore; the statues, ruined and broken, lie upon the ground which rank weeds have overrun ; an uncultured soil repays neglect with comparative barrenness ; but, even yet, the traveller who enters Venice by that route is struck with the natural grace of each manly form, and each female face. The miscellaneous company, whom we have described, were unobservant of the scenes through which they passed. To many of them the place was familiar, and being so, was slighted. Some were plodding men of busi- ness, for whom a sequin wore a more golden aspect than would the Dryad-haunted valleys of ^Arcadia, or the sunny glades of Cythera. Others full of the anticipated delights of Venice, First Ocean's daughter, then his bride, were all too busy with their own thoughts for observation of the passing scenery. The wine- cup challenged the exclusive attention of more, while, for the rest, there was sufficient attrac- TITIAN. 9 tion in eyes and features, " looks and tones," whose expression, at the moment, was pleasing because it was kind. There was one, however, for whom the scene appeared to have many beauties if an opinion might be formed from the fixed and pleased admiration he bestowed upon it. Of the rank and occupation of this youthful person, little could be guessed from his appearance. In those days, when the chief distinctions of dress were not denned in so marked a manner as at an earlier and a later period, the stranger, wearing the semi-warlike attire then general, might have been taken for a merchant or a traveller, a soldier or a citizen. He sat in the bow of the boat, delightedly regarding the scene through which they were passing, and more than one of the female passengers viewed him with interest. Their accustomed eyes took in his portrait at a look. He was of the middle stature, and his slight but well-proportioned figure did not indicate the possession of much muscular strength, yet B 3 10 TITIAN. he had much experience of war and travel, and had borne fatigue of mind and body under which stronger men might have sunk. At this time he had just completed his twenty-first year. Intense study, or the premature toils of life or both, perhaps had already marked the calm and settled expression of manhood upon his features, so that a casual beholder might take him for some five or six years more than he really had reached. His features were rather well than regularly cut. A sculptor would say that the lower part of his face was too square and massy, and that the mouth was rather large, but the upper features fairly balanced these defects, for the brow was high, the nose well shaped, and the dark grey eyes full and piercing. His complexion was pale, but it did not appear to be the pallor of ill health. In the deep clear tones of his voice, there was gravity almost to sadness, and if he wanted the bloom and the laughing look of youth, few would say that his face, strongly marked with thought and feeling, had not a far deeper TITIAN. 1 1 interest, especially when emotion threw suc- cessive tides of light rather than colour over its paleness. Add to these particulars, short moustaches, and dark brown hair flowing in thick curls upon his shoulders, and more thinly even retreatingly upon his high forehead, and some idea of the appearance of the stranger may be formed. A tunic of lawn, confined at the neck by a jewelled clasp, a falling or turn-down collar of yet finer material, in striking relief to a doublet of dark cloth, open in front and girt round the waist by a richly embroidered girdle, in which a small dagger was placed a cap of purple velvet, with a short dark plume, fastened on one side by a gem of more value than show a short Spanish cloak, negligently thrown across his shoulders, and loosely clasped by tassels round his neck, and a rapier or walking sword by his side such was his attire. These details imperfectly indicate rather than describe the person, brought out, thus prominently, from the assembly of passengers 12 TITIAN. in that ferry-boat. Descending from par- ticulars, we may give the simple assurance that the Signore Carloni was not so fortunate as to be an Apollo in form, nor an Adonis in beauty. If not apparently above the general run of travellers half merchant, half soldier of the early part of the sixteenth century, he cer- tainly was not beneath it. The common- place of the Signore's appearance may disap- point those who are accustomed to think of one of the chief characters in a romance as something between a demigod and a demon ; but the fact must be stated as it was. It may be a consolation for such to remember that the most unpromising exterior may conceal a treasure; it was in the leaden casket, and not in that of gold or silver, that Bassanio found the scroll which gave Portia to his heart. If his fellow-passengers had been of a su- perior rank, they might have found in Signer Carloni, perhaps, something more than the silent and unsociable person he seemed to them. One signal of the freemasonry of society, is a TITIAN. 13 nameless and ^indefinable something which, under all circumstances, will cling to those of gentle blood and nurture. To describe it, would be as difficult as to describe some sweet-souled melody. It may mingle its grace with the slightest movements of the body, rest on the speaking smile, show itself by a glance from the eye or a word from the lip. It is Protean. We watch for it, and it does not appear. We forget it, and it is displayed beyond questioning. About half of that short voyage had been slug- gishly accomplished, when Signer Carloni ob- served among the passengers, whom, from time to time, they took in at different landing- places, one who certainly was of a class much superior to the rest. That very intelligence and sympathy which silently attract, even in a crowd, speedily drew him into conversation with this last-comer, who acquainted him that his name was Vecelli, that he was a resident in Venice, and was then on his return from a short visit at the villeggiatura or country-resi- 14 TITIAN. dence of the noble family of Barberigo. And the Signore Vecelli learned, in turn, that the companion whom chance had thus cast in his way, had latest come from Inspruck, and knew not whether his sojourn in Venice would be brief or extended. These mutual state- ments being made, the parties gradually glided into conversation, and thus beguiled the te- diousness of the slowly-passing time. Carloni, who was at once a scholar, a sol- dier and a courtier an union more rare in his time than ours speedily discovered that Ve- celli possessed extensive and general know- ledge, gleaned, apparently, like his own, as much from intercourse with society as from the perusal of books. He had some difficulty, at first, in conjecturing what station such a person might occupy in Venice, but judged, from his frequent reference to the Sign or Barberigo, that he was probably attached to that noble in the capacity of secretary, for which he appeared well qualified. The plain- ness of his attire, when all in Venice who were TITIAN. 15 not noble usually displayed a certain magni- ficence in their habits, confirmed this conjec- ture. Those who beheld the two cavaliers, as they conversed together, would notice that Vecelli, who was several years the senior, had also greatly the advantage in personal appearance. Not merely because in stature he was over the common height, and combined strength and activity of form in no ordinary degree of perfection if in that there can be degrees but the features were strikingly handsome, and the bearing was eminently that of one " master of his own mind/' and accustomed to acts of importance and decision. His eyes were large and dark, and the intellect which clearly beam- ed from them (bearing out the theory of La- vater,) was confirmed by the ease with which, in conversation, he shewed himself acquainted with each subject that arose. His profile was strongly marked, exhibiting the compact forehead, the full eye-brow, the aquiline nose, the well-cut and expressive mouth, the 16 TITIAN. bold and rounded chin, and the well-shaped neck, which might have been a model to a sculptor anxious to adjust the head of an Antinousupon a suitable support. The phy- siognomist might think, perhaps, that the mouth indicated tastes a little too luxurious, but it was impossible for him to behold that face without feeling that it must belong to one who had the power and desire to struggle for a mighty prize, and the ability and energy which find a make-a-way to the goal. It was, in short, one of those faces on which SUCCESS was written plainly. Scarcely any person is there, who, once at least, in the path of life, has not come across such a face, and bewil- dered himself, from time to time, in after years, wondering whether the promise it held forth had been accomplished, and in what manner. " In Venice/' said Vecelli, in reply to some remarks from the other, " there is less commu- nion of thought than you anticipate. The policy of the State forbids familiar intercourse TITIAN. 17 between her nobles and foreigners, and even excludes her own citizens, however distin- guished, from commanding her army, so strong is the precaution against the abuse of power. In Venice, men are cautious what they say and where they say it, for walls have ears. The spy lurks among one's most familiar friends, and the Lion's mouth ever is open to receive secret denunciations from all quarters. As a stranger, therefore, you can have little intercourse with Venetian society ; but, on the other hand, you may pursue your own path, if it be an harmless one, and rest confident that scarcely, except by your own fault, can evil fall upon you." " But I would inquire," said Carloni, " from you, who appear acquainted with the subject, why Venice, all powerful as she is, should thus sanction a system which destroys open con- fidence between man and man, while it appears to give encouragement to spies, and traitors, and secret slanderers ?" " Why ? because the condition of Venice is different from the condition of every state 18 TITIAN. 4 now existing of every state that ever ha! existed. Her beginning is like a dream, her* i history like a legend ! Ten centuries ago, a hand- ; ful of bold men sought an asylum amid a few barren islets on the shore of the Adriatic. They rescued these spots of, earth from the sea, and erected humble dwellings, in which, whatever else they might want, they were rich at least in liberty. By much struggling, and great fortune, their little settlement gradually emerged from obscurity. They became known as, traders ,at Ja time when maritime enterprize was rare, and their numbers increased from various quarters. Then came the necessity for a government and laws. They fixed certain rules by which to be guided ; they deputed the ruling power to the most worthy. Wealth increased. The desire for foreign dominion was awakened, when cities and states on Terra Firma entreated their friendship, their assistance, and their protection. The city became a Seigniory ; a mighty State with wide possessions and many tributaries. Nature has rendered the seat of government inacces- TITIAN. 19 sible on all sides, except by treason. To prevent to detect to punish this, is the con- stant care of the Venetian rulers. The situation is peculiar peculiar are the means. Viewing the matter, as a stranger may, with- out a knowledge or a thought of the true position of Venice, as a state, I wonder not that her policy should appear hard and strange, but considering that by such policy she has achieved her unequalled greatness, one may ask, whether by any other means she could have won it? By the result, we judge of the means ! Thus has Venice arisen ; the Rome of the ocean, or rather, in her wealth, her commerce, and her greatness, the Tyre of Christendom." " Perhaps, like the ancient Tyre, to fall and be forgotten ?" " It may so," replied Vecelli, " for we know not what the fulness of time may bring forth. But, whether Venice flourish or fade, the part she has borne among nations can never be for- gotten. Not alone in the art of conquest, 20 TITIAN. which has given her power, as if by miracle nor in commerce, which sends her fleets throughout the world nor in policy, which has rendered the City of the Sea mighty among the mightiest; but in the arts which adorn, and civilize, and elevate, is Venice foremost among the nations. Her architecture has employed the ablest masters, from the first who changed her mud huts into palaces, to our Giacopo Sansovino, who appears determined to reduce the poetry of his art into form and substance. Venice was among the first to take advantage of the discovery of printing, and the learned labours of Manutius Aldus, even now, produce and multiply copies of the classics, with a fidelity which, a century ago, would have been considered the effect of magic. Her sculptors form a peculiar class, perpetually engaged in adorning the dwellings of her warrior- merchants, until the stranger wonders at the number no less than the beauty of their productions. Her mosaic- workers are eminent throughout Europe, and Zuccato's name gives TITIAN. 21 warrant of the ability which heads them. Her manufactures of silk, glass, and jewellery, are renowned above all others ; her very coin is so beautiful in design and pure in material, that from the Mediterranean to the sea of China, the Asiatics know no other European coin but the Venetian sequin ; and her painters have already formed a new school, the characteristic of which is the practical illustration of the great principle, hitherto too little cared for, that truth shall be the basis of their art, whether as regards design or colouring/' " Across the Alps," said Carloni, " we prize the paintings of the Venetian artists beyond all others. It is true that we have beheld few of them, for frescoes can only be viewed where they are executed, but our Albert Durer has brought with him brilliant specimens of art executed by Venetian painters. Thus he has formed a collection which even the Emperor Maximilian delights to visit. Not only have we thus seen paintings by the Bellini and their pupils, but by their master, Antonello de 22 TITIAN. Messina, who contrived to cheat John of Bruges out of the secret of painting in oil." " The trans-montane belief that the Bellini were pupils of Antonello, is incorrect/' ob- served Vecelli. " There was something like re- taliation in the way by which Giacomo Bellini, father of the present painters, acquired his knowledge of the mode of working colours in oil. When John of Bruges sent some of his paintings to the King of Naples, they were seen by Antonello, who immediately proceeded to Van Eyck, entered himself as a pupil under a feigned name, and by close observation discovered the secret which has given per- manency to modern paintings. Accompanied by Pino, of Messina, he came to Venice, where he practised the new mode. Giacomo Bellini observed how mellow and brilliant was his colouring, and how the pale and monotonous tints were, by this process, succeeded by the gradations of light and shade. His person was unknown to Antonello, and he boldly went to him to sit for his portrait. In the TITIAN. 23 second sitting he discovered the means by which the new effects were produced, and immediately commenced employing them." " Let me inquire, Signer, since our discourse has fallen upon art, whether Albert Durer, whom I knew during his last visit to Venice, is succeeding as a painter ? J> "He now engraves more than he paints, and is employed on a great work, the Triumphs of the Emperor Maximilian, which will exhibit the finest examples of the graver's skill and the painter's design. The Emperor has not only given him a pension, but patents of nobility, and he has been appointed a member of the Council of Nurenberg. He well remembers Venice, and shews with wonder and delight for a great artist can afford to speak the truth of a rival a surprising paint- ing which Titian, a dweller in Venice, executed before he had reached the year of manhood, in cbmpetition with himself. Durer declares that in minute and laborious fidelity it equals the 24 TITIAN. best of his own productions, while in grace and colouring, it surpasses them." " Indeed !" exclaimed Vecelli, " then is Albert Durer as generous as he is gifted. This Titian, of whom you speak, must be happy when he learns that his old rival gives him praise. Know that he has done more he has invited him to reside with himself in Germany, with the assurance that there his pencil would have constant employment and procure him fame and riches." TITIAN. 25 CHAPTER II. THE CITY OF THE SEA. THE RIVALS. Once she did hold the gorgeous East in fee, And was the safeguard of the West : the worth Of Venice did not fall below her birth. Venice, the eldest Child of Liberty ! WORDSWORTH. MEANWHILE, approaching the termination of its voyage, the boat passed that village of palaces, the Mira. Soon after, it neared Fu- sina, on the verge of the Lagunes, and speedily, as one of the seamen shouted, "Venezia! Ve- nezia!" many eyes eagerly turned to catch a glimpse of the City of the Sea. Beautiful Venice ! if in these latter days, when " ruin greenly dwells'* in those proud VOL. i. c 26 TITIAN. palaces once peopled with the beautiful and the brave, the lip becomes eloquent in praise, and the heart treasures up, for aye, bright imaginings and remembrances of that romance of real life in which, for a thousand years, her children bore their stirring part how rich must have been that mural beauty, how proud these associations of glory, in the summer of her greatness. Even yet, the pale shadow of her former self, the Ocean Queen is wealthy in charms and attractions amid decay and ruin ; but, in the olden days, when her rich argosies swept over every sea; when her merchants were the very princes of commerce ; when her chivalry was the bulwark of Christendom against the Ottoman ; when what she won by arms, she extended by policy ;* she must have been glorious and magnificent indeed. With an aspect unique as it was picturesque, its architecture blending the lightness and luxury of the East with the stately and solid grandeur of the West Venice was a place * Macchiavelli paid tbis compliment to Venice. TITIAN. 27 which, once seen, could never be forgotten. It looked, with its Saracenic domes and mi- narets, like an Asiatic city transported to the Adriatic by a spell powerful as that muttered by the crafty Afrit when he commanded " the slaves of the lamp" to remove the palace of Aladdin from Tartary to sandy Sahara. Her people peculiar in their government, po- licy and customs. Her commerce which up to the close of the fifteenth century, monopo- lized the richest trade of Europe and of Asia. Her manufactures which gave employment to her sons and riches to her traders. Her en- terprise, which had gradually made the greater part of northern Italy subject to her rule, and extended her territory even to the Archipelago. Her admirable diplomacy which, up to this period, had borne her triumphantly, because wisely, through every storm that assailed her from without, and each internal commotion. Her palaces and public buildings combining various orders of architecture into a whole which would have appeared incongruous, if not C 2 28 TITIAN. ludicrous, any where else, but here was pre- cisely suited to the peculiar situation and ap- pearance of the city. Her patronage of arts and letters which added new glory to her name. Her attractive pleasures which truly made her The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy. Her daughters embodiments of loveliness, " soft as their clime and sunny as their skies," casting around them an atmosphere of light, like the genii-jewel of Istakar, streaming forth beams that brighten and hallow where they fall. It was to Venice, remarkable for all of .these to Venice, then in the fulness of fame and fortune, that Signore Carloni was proceeding, and his expectations were naturally awakened to the uttermost. On arriving at Fusina, the passengers took gondolas and separated. Carloni committed himself to one of these hearse-like boats, and as there was ample room for two in its little pavilion, courteously invited Vecelli to share TITIAN. 29 his conveyance. Soon, Venice broke more fully on his Bright, (he had seen some of her steeples from Terra Firma), and he perceived how well she merited to be called a City in the Sea. As the land was left behind, the churches and palaces became more and more apparent spire and pinnacle came nearer and clearer to view. And now, as the gondola glided on, (passing, midway, the island of San Giorgio in Alga), the sun was going down behind the mountains ; the clouds were many-hued, graduating from the deep crimson to the darkest violet ; the calm and unruffled waters tremblingly reflected these rainbow-coloured tints ; and the spires and minarets showed in sharp relief between the spectator and the sky. Then, as the clouds changed into dark blue, the buildings stood out more massive than in the sunshine; the shadows became deeper; a mysterious aspect did that huge city bear, like one of the gorgeous yet solemn creations which the high imagination and skilful pencil of Martin alone appear capable of represent- 30 TITIAN. ing; as if, in effect, a noble metropolis, of unique architecture, was floating upon the sea, and was just visible between the waters and the sky. No marvel was it that, following the recommendation of Vecelli, Carloni should have ordered the boat's progress to be suspended, while he watched the gradual changes from sunset to dusky twilight, which showed him Venice in the manner we have attempted to indicate. At length, the order was given to proceed, and the suburbs being speedily cleared, if, in- deed, it be not anomalous to speak of the suburbs of a place entirely surrounded by water, the gondola reached the nearest or western entrance of the Grand Canal. The gondoliers paused and demanded where the Signori would choose to land? Vecelli had learned from Carloni that his destination was near the Rialto, to which, by passing directly down the Grand Canal, a few minutes would bring them, but suggested, from an avowed desire to give a stranger a striking and favour- TITIAN. 31 able impression of Venice, that they should rather make a detour by the Guidecca and the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, and sweep up close by the Riva delli Schiavoni, (as if they were entering seaward), so as to take in, at one glance, the Ducal Palace, the Piazzetta, the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore, and the lofty Campanile. Pausing to behold this view unequalled, perhaps, in the world Carloni gave way, in terms of strong admiration, to the delight he had experienced, and warmly thanked Vecelli for having presented it to him. " It is strange," said he, as they entered the serpentine sweep of the Grand Canal, " that Venice is so completely accordant with every preconceived idea of its situa- tion and aspect, that it appears rather a place which I have seen before, than one which I now behold for the first time. If I am disappointed in anything, it is in these noble palaces, which seem more massy in their mag- 32 TITIAN. nificence than agrees with the Asiatic charac- ter of the city. Even on Terra Firrha they would appear as if built with a view of endur- ing until the very end of time, but here, where they form a city completely realizing the idea of a floating metropolis, at anchor in the sea, they make me wonder more and more how the unstable sands can bear them/' " You have fallen into a common error. There can be no doubt, from various circum- stances, that the ground upon- which Venice stands was formerly part of the main land. By the gradual advance and increase of the waters in the Adriatic Gulf, that portion of the shore became submerged. The foundation, there- fore, is not sandy, but solid. When a palace is to be built, the water is carefully excluded, the soft alluvial matter which then first pre- sents itself is removed, and the original bed of the Lagurie discovered, into which are driven strong piles of wood, which form the founda- tion. Though the waves, at high water, fre- TITIAN. 33 quently dash into the very halls of the struc- tures thus erected, they are firm as if built upon a mountain." A noble and unrivalled prospect was pre- sented to the travellers, as they went up the Grand Canal that superb water-street, to which there is no likeness in the world. On either side, public edifices and private palaces arose in emulous magnificence rich in sculp- ture, in frescoes, in mosaic, and in arabesque. Here and there were merchant-vessels, with their tall masts and fluttering pennons; gondolas swiftly impelled, with lamps upon stem and stern ; lights glancing from the windows of the palaces and from the landing-places be- fore them ; the bustle of life upon the waters, . as the boats glanced by each other, apparently within a hair's breadth of constant collision, yet adroitly kept separate by the dexterity of the rc/wers. They were now, in truth, upon the great thoroughfare of Venice; that city, within which never sounds the noise of a car- c 3 34 TITIAN. riage-wheel, and never falls the hoof of a horse.* The people and the edifices were alike strange to Carloni ; the architecture especially so, being a riddle in its blended details of Greek, Saracenic, and Gothic : it might be termed regular in its irregularity, and was in keeping with a place in every respect so peculiar. The gondola now came to the Fon- dacode* Tedeschi, (or Exchange of the German merchants), beyond the bridge of the Rialto the wooden one, built in the beginning of the thirteenth century, which was not replaced by the present one of Pietro Dura, from Istria, until 1591, when Pascal Cigogna was Doge turned down the narrow canal to the less public * Bishop Burnet has fallen into a great and unaccountable mistake in his description of Venice. " Here," he says, "as well as throughout Lombardy, the coaches are extremely inconvenient to ride in, being not hung upon the carriages." The fact is, that the streets are too narrow for carriages, and Venice is so intersected by canals, that the gondola super- sedes all other description of vehicle. TITIAN. 35 riva, and here Carloni disembarked. Here, also, Vecelli landed, bade his companion farewell, and, turning down an adjacent foot- passage, was immediately lost to view. No sooner had the gondola shot out of sight, than another, which had been in waiting be- tween the Fondaco and the bridge, came into the rio, and was placed close by the landing- place. The gondolieri wore the gay and ex- pensive livery of a noble rich jackets of flower- ed silk, falling collars of crimson, and bright velvet caps of the same rich colour. The ar- morial badge worked on the front of these caps, in gold embroidery, was a BEAR indi- cating that the wearers were in the service of Nicolo Orsino, Count Petigliano, at that time, chief in command of the land-forces of Ve- nice. One of these servitors, jumping ashore from the gondola, respectfully saluted Carloni, in- quired his name, and, on learning it, told him that they had been for some time awaiting his arrival. The luggage which > the Stranger had 36 TITIAN. brought with him, was speedily transferred to the large and handsome gondola in which he now took his seat ; and, the oars being plied with the adroitness which to this day distin- guishes the rowers on the canals of Venice, in a few minutes they were abreast of the water- gate of Petigliano's palace, (adjoining the Merceria), which the Senate had appropriated for his accommodation, whenever, as at that time, they wished personally to consult him respecting matters connected with the impor- tant trust so worthily confided to his valour and discretion. Like other palaces in Venice, this one appeared to rise out of the water by which, indeed, it was washed on two sides, so that, at times, the sea swept over the doorway and a few yards upon the marble floor of the basement story, which was but a little higher than the level of the canal. Such buildings might have appeared too massive, but for the beauty and variety of their embellishments, which relieved and broke the heaviness of that solidity. Colonnade towered over colonnade, in airy but TITIAN. 37 majestic beauty, to a heighth almost unknown elsewhere, and elaborately carved medallions were the usual external adornments of these dwellings, of which the situation and aspect were alike singular. One might have fancied that they had been hewn from the rock, so solid did they appear, instead of having been raised upon a foundation made upon piles of wood. If these fabrics were not embellished in the purest taste, no expense, at least, had been spared. Innumerable carvings, columns, me- dallions, and frescoes, combined to decorate them on the outside, while the interior adorn- ments were in a yet richer style, and included all that Wealth could lavishly provide. The tapestry which covered the walls was enriched with alternations of fine paintings and costly mirrors. Columns of giallo antico, added to the palatial splendour of the principal apart- ments, and the floors a polished mosaic of Greek and Italian marbles, smooth and hard as glass, and rich in various and vivid hues appeared almost too beautiful for daily use. 38 TITIAN. It is impossible to say why such a waste of wealth as these palaces exhibit should have been encouraged ; but it is certain that State policy did encourage this kind of expenditure, either that the native artisans might thus be employed, and this distribution of money pre- vent the nobles from accumulating it, as an engine of ambition and power; or that the nobles, restrained by a strict sumptuary law, from any but the plainest attire, must have indulged their pride or vanity by lavishing on their dwellings the wealth which, otherwise, in a rich city and a luxurious age, might have been devoted to the adornment of their persons. While by one side ran a canaletto, or narrow water-course, communicating at the rear with the less public entrance, the principal fa9ade of the Petigliano palace fronted the Grand Canal. Immediately before the entrance were placed mooring-posts, painted with gaudy colours, to which several gondolas were attached. The vestibule was ascended by a few marble steps, TITIAN. 39 and at the extremity of the large hall, upon which it opened, was a double flight of broad stairs, with richly embellished balustrades of bronze. Ascending these steps, Carloni was conducted alofcg a wide and lofty corridor, into a suite of apartments, which by the aid of mirrors, paintings, tapestry from Arras, busts (some spoils from the East), silken hangings, and ottomans, had a very noble appearance. The floors were partially covered with mats, the handy-work of Indian artificers. The windows opened upon light balconies, hanging over the canal, on either end of which were vases containing orange-trees and exotics, which greenly festooned around the branches and amid the golden fruit. At that twilight time, the existence of these plants were indi- cated more by the odours they exhaled than the beauty they displayed. Shaded lamps diffused a chastened, rather than a brilliant light through the rooms. At length, the ser- vitor paused before a closed door, gained admittance, and introduced Signore Carloni 40 TITIAN. from the ante-chamber into a spacious apart- ment, in which there sat an old man, whom Carloni immediately knew could be no other than Count Petigliano. That renowned warrior appeared fast declin- ing into the vale of years. His frame was bent, his hair white, his visage worn, but time had been even less of a spoiler than toil. There was an expression of pride, rather than of hauteur, in his countenance ; and few could view that face without acknowledging that its possessor was a master spirit. And, indeed, Nicolo Orsino was a man of no ordinary fame and ability. A younger son of that princely family which so often had held the office of Senator of Rome, he had entered life with little more than his sword had served under various Condottieri had obtained high, although not the highest, command in the army of the Siennese, who rewarded him with the fief which gave him his title had next served, for a short time, at the head of the Roman troops, in the pay of Pope Alexander the Sixth TITIAN. 41 had commanded (en second under the famous Trivulzi) the Neapolitan army when Charles the Eighth of France invaded Naples, in 1494 had then passed into the service of Venice, becominggovernorof her army, under Francesco de Gonzago, the Captain General had suc- ceeded to the supreme command on the retire- ment of Gonzago, in 1497? and so much gratified the Seigniory, that when the Pope was prose- cuting or persecuting the Orsini, " in course of justice," (as it was called) the Venetian Senate would not allow Petigliano to be molested; and finally, in 1504, as Thomas de Fougasses relates, "Count Petillan at the same time, being on great promises entreated by divers Kings and Princes to serve them, would never forsake the Seigniory. In acknowledgement whereof, the State of Venice made him General of their army for three years, with a yearly annuity of five hundred pounds of gold." He had recently arrived at Venice on the invitation of the Seigniory, to assist them with his council. The trust he held, important as it was, had 42 TITIAN. seldom been confided to a braver or more judicious soldier. Equally at home in the cabinet and camp, his judgment, schooled by experience, was what the Seigniory wished to have the benefit of, when they now saw the forward shadow of advancing peril. Venice had arrived at such greatness as to be at once formidable and envied, and it was only by being fully prepared to meet danger, that she could hope to avert it. Proud of his achievements especially of that skill in strategy, for which he was more famous than for a temperate courage, which neither shunned nor courted peril Petigliano had, immediately under him in command, Bartho- lemeo Alviano, (or D'Alvaine, as he is most commonly called by historians,) whose charac- teristic was that, which Miss Landon attributed to Crescentius, A spirit that could dare The deadliest form that Death could take, And dare it for the daring sake ! A soldier of fortune, and of obscure birth, D'Alvaine had literally fought his way up to TITIAN. 43 distinction, until at length he bore the second baton of St. Mark. He, too like nearly all the eminent commanders of that country and time was a mercenary, selling his sword to the best bidder, and faithful to each contract, while it lasted. Thus, he had fought with and against the French then he took command under Venice, and is said to have suggested to Gonsalvo of Cordova, (commonly known as the Great Captain) the plan by which, in 1503, he defeated the French, by crossing the Garigliano on a bridge of boats, and surprising them in the rear. Shortly after, D'Alvaine wholly abandoned the Spanish service, and was at this time in that of Venice. The general belief, although no appearance of coolness between them was visible, was that little confidence or friendship existed between the two commanders. Petigliano .was wary and cautious, almost to a fault, in the field and in council. D'Alvaine, daring and impetuous, usually had obtained success by some brilliant coup de main. The soldiery were accustomed to 44 TITIAN. call one "a slumbering lion/' and speak of the other as " the watchful lynx." One read little, the other, even in the tumult of the camp, delighted to cultivate letters, and had collected around him a circle of friends including many of the most eminent literati of Italy. Petigliano could appreciate the Arts, but D'Alvaine had encouraged them. The qualities they held in common were chivalric honour, and undaunted courage but even in this last, there was a difference. D'Alvaine fought like a Paladin, to whom war was a pastime ; with Petigliano it was rather a matter of science and calculation, and he would not needlessly strike a blow, for the mere pleasure of the contest. In a word, war was defensive on the part of Petigliano, offensive on that of D'Alvaine. There was a rivalry between them, more felt by each other than suspected by the world ; a rivalry which kept each obstinate in his own opinion; a rivalry which might have been most injurious to the State, if the Provveditori (who inva- riably accompanied the Venetian army to the TITIAN. 45 field, and might be said to hold command over the Commanders) should lack the address to combine their respective powers, and profitably bring them into operation for the public ad- vantage. In general, D'Alvaine deferred some- what to his superior, for he was too good a soldier not to know that discipline and subor- dination should be maintained from the highest to the lowest rank. At this time he was about fifty, and Petigliano some twelve or fifteen years older. It was the policy of the government to attach Count Petigliano to the service of St. Mark, by kindness and attention. This they felt was wise, not only as regarded the future, but as a mark of gratitude for his having given them the preference, when, three years pre- viously, the most splendid offers were made him to take the chief military command in other States. Now, too, when his term of engage- ment had nearly expired, they wished to tempt him to renew it ; and thus, the ruling passion 46 TITIAN. of his old age, (and that, indeed, by which wiser men were then deceived,) being the pursuit of the Philosopher's Stone, they readily permitted him to take a secretary from Germany j fully aware that, under this name, he would engage some Adept whose experience might avail him in the science of which, rather late in life, he had become the disciple ! This concession, craftily vaunted of as a great favour, obtained the completion of the Senate's wishes, and Petigliano consented to remain chief in military command for three years longer. It must be confessed that Petigliano had hitherto been unfortunate or unskilful in his scientific adventures. The grand Alcahest, or universal dissolvent, had not been produced from his alembics, crucibles, or aludels ; he had patiently watched the process of this tincture and of that menstruum, but had always been disappointed, the Protean Hermes had been sublimed to an oxide by the heat of the Athanor, or the Magisterium had evaporated TITIAN. 47 altogether. In a word, the union of the Red Lion and the White Lily had not been effected, though, with great patience, the Count had watched the many-hued vapours as they rose !* Therefore, he determined to obtain assistance, and the Council of Three, fully acquainted with his secret pursuits, complied with his request, after raising a show of difficulty, to enhance the favour. It was for this purpose, therefore, but nominally as secretary to Count Petigliano that Signore Carloni had come to Venice. At present, when Alchemy has no followers, it is common to smile at the delusion which duped so many which often deceived the wisest. But is not the spirit, even yet, the dupe of golden dreams, as distant from realiza- tion as the phantasies of Hermes or the * It is scarcely fair to mention Alchemy without referring to the great quantity of curious information upon that subject which Dr. Anster has accumulated in the notes to his admirable translation or rather, his transfusion into English verse, of Goethe's "Faustus." 48 TITIAN. Alcahest of Geber? Lo, what truthful elo- quence does the voice of poetry pour out on this head Alas ! we play the Alchemist with life ; We fling our hearts, with all their precious wealth Of feelings, into Passion's fatal fire, Hoping to win from them some priceless store Of an unended happiness. And there We sit, with fevered brow, and trembling hands, Watching until the fire decays, and nought Of all the mighty wealth we risked is found In the cold ashes. TITIAN. 49 CHAPTER III. THE UNKNOWN KNOWN. Cornelius Agrippa went out one day. SOUTHEY. WITH infinitely more respect and attention than their respective ranks might seem to warrant, the Count Petigliano saluted his visitor. The salutation was silently returned, and both sat down. " You have been expected for some days, Signore," said the Count. '* 1 was detained at Padua, beyond my desire. Your messenger, too, with the safe- conduct of the Three, only came up with me yesterday, and I thought it well to wait for it VOL. I. D 50 TITIAN. and him. He had crossed me on my return from Paris to Inspruck. I perceive, by your letter, that the difficulties you anticipated did not arise, that the State is satisfied this scholar's cap does not cover a conspirator. Were they afraid that a poor German student was likely to carry away one of their galleys beneath his cloak? Have they " " For the love of Heaven, Signore, do not jest with aught belonging to St. Mark. Walls have ears, and eyes, and tongues in Venice, and a sorry jest, harmless as your own, has wrecked many a proud heart here, ere now. The Council most willingly acceded to my request they have fixed no limit to the period of your residence, and only declare that it must be beneath this roof." "I thank you, Sir Count, for the intimation. If I am brief in my acknowledgments, I pray you to excuse me, for I begin to feel the fatigue of nearly three weeks' travel." " I would but add," said the Count, " that I shall feel my roof honoured by its covering one TITIAN. 51 who comes under it with the recommendation of Cornelius Agrippa ; the good opinion I entertain of you upon his account, I am con- fident will speedily be augmented on your own. The riot of pleasure and the trifling of society will not distract you here. I scarcely know whether I should rejoice or lament that while the Seigniory invites the services of those who are not citizens of Venice, it prohibits us from social converse with all who are." " I like it well," said the stranger, " for the din of the frivolous Court of King Louis, at Paris, still rings in my ears. And now, with your leave, I would retire." We have said that Cornelius Agrippa was the person to whom Count Petigliano had applied as to a Master in science when he required assistance in the Alchemical studies he had taken up. What the issue of that ap- plication had been, the reader already knows, but he may not know a few particulars about Agrippa of which we desire he should not any longer remain ignorant. Therefore, with as D 2 52 TITIAN. much brevity as possible, we shall inform him. At the period of which we write, one of the most remarkable scholars, in every respect, was Henri Cornelius Agrippa, the private se- cretary, and familiar friend of the Emperor Maximilian. At this time, it is true, he was by no means so publicly distinguished for his acquirements, his genius, and his researches, as at a later period ; but, even then, he had achieved enough of honourable reputation, as a scholar and a cavalier, to give him high emi- nence among the most rising and brilliant characters at the German court. He was of noble birth, too, being of the ancient family of Nettesheim, which for many generations had held high appointments under the Princes of the house of Austria. While yet a child, he had mastered many languages (at the era of our story he could speak and write no less than eight of them), and had obtained such credit, even then, that his Sovereign, who was himself a ripe scholar, took charge of his fur- TITIAN. 53 ther education, when he was only ten years of age, shortly after gave him an appointment about his person, finally made him his secre- tary (for the beauty of his penmanship was re- markable), and encouraged him to study the more abstruse and occult sciences, the supe- riority in which, at a more advanced period of life, obtained him the doubtful and disastrous name of Magician. The secrets of art and nature were indeed so familiar to him that, in an age when credulity, ignorance, and superstition abounded, he was believed by the many to hold converse with the powers of darkness. But the man whose me- rits won the contemporary praises of Trithe- mius, Erasmus and Melancthon, could have been no common character. From childhood to youth, from youth to manhood, and from manhood to the grave, the thirst for knowledge and the desire of celebrity had been on him, like a spell. Deep in the confidence of his Imperial master, he had latterly devoted himself to politics as much as to letters. The 54 TITIAN. variety and extent of his attainments, the ac- curacy of his j udgment, the wisdom of his ex- pedients, the keenness of his capacity, his great familiarity with languages nay, his very youth (tempting diplomatists to the flattering belief that they could readily overreach him) were so many concurring causes, why he had recently been sent to transact political business of some importance, at the court of King Louis of France, which the Emperor wanted to be executed with adroitness and secrecy. So, too, when the missive from Count Petigliano reached Agrippa immediately before his depar- ture for Paris, on this secret embassy, he lost no time in forwarding his recommendation of Carloni, who really was a ripe scholar and an adept in the art in which the Count required assistance and instruction. Finding, on his return to Inspruck, where the Emperor held his Court, that it was deemed important and requisite to have an emissary of trust at Venice, to make secret reports of the military prepara- tions, which it was suspected were being made TITIAN. 55 by the Seigniory, Agrippa quickly perceived how unsuspiciously the Imperial interests might be advanced by his own assumption of Carloni's name and situation, which would place him in constant communication with the Venetian generalissimo. We need not pause to inquire how far such assumption might be considered the reverse of honourable in the present day it is sufficient to say that, ready to suffer the penalty of detection in such a deceit, Agrippa felt it his duty to undertake it, if the interests of his Imperial master could thereby be ad- vanced ; and the personage, therefore, who has hitherto been designated and introduced as Signore Carloni, was in truth none other than the celebrated HENRI CORNELIUS AGRIPPA. The Count Petigliano soon saw how infi- nitely superior to his own idea of Alchemy, which some one has expressively called the poetry of chemistry, was the beautiful and al- most perfect science whose resources and won- ders Agrippa daily exhibited to him. He per- 56 TITIAN. ceived that he was indeed in . the hands of an adept, and readily believed, what Agrippa told him, that the least time in which the powder of projection could be obtained was nine months, a period precisely according with that of human gestation, for his books plainly declared that it was doubtful whether it could be produced even within that time, unless the operations were commenced and advanced under the ap- propriate astral influences. Agrippa was well acquainted with all the siderial signs, and now, (to wile away the leisure which was likely to pass heavily during his abode in Venice, as well as to make the experiment for its own sake), he felt anxious to try the successive pro- cesses which the alchemical sages from Alfa- rabi and Morien, to Raymond .Sully and Ni- cholas Flamel declared necessary. Thus he commenced with an endeavour to accommo- date the inchoate Magisterium to the changes of the Zodiac, and soon, in the true spirit of the children of Geber, he took an interest in TITIAN. 57 watching the alternating hues of the vapours arising from and floating over the preparation, by which the progressive success of the process was indicated. To a mind like his, ever anx- ious to trace effects up to their causes, there was excitement in the trial whether the metals had a common basis, and whether they could be transmuted by any means, when in a state of fusion. For Alchemy may be simplified to this one question. Can the metals be de- com- posed? If so, they can certainly be re-com- posed, and their elements mingled in what proportions, the Adept pleases, so as, in fact, to be transmuted. We recommend the matter to Faraday's investigation. He, perhaps, may solve the riddle which has puzzled Bacon, caused King Alfonso to write his famous Libra de Tesero, and numbered among its searchers King Piccatrix (the Saracen), the Emperor Frederick the Third, some of the Popes, many of the Clergy, and even the Regent Orleans ! Fascinating, indeed, must have been the spell D 3 58 TITIAN. which could thus subdue mighty minds by the tempting promise of the exhaustless riches which constitute power, and the mysterious draught which would bestow perpetual youth amid the changes of revolving years. Of all the superstitions of our forefathers, surely this was at once the most graceful and excusable. Think what good might spring from the distribution of illimitable wealth what wants might be relieved what bounties bestowed what dis- coveries made what inventions perfected. Fancy too, the sweet delight of perpetuating the youth and beauty of the beloved of infusing vigor into fading mortality of casting a bridle over the neck of Time, and binding him for ever ! To this day, as we read of the brave experiments and bold projects of the early Al- chemists, of the Cabala, with their ten enume- rations called Sephiroth, their holy Sigils, their sacred Pentacles of the Tables of Ziruph, a magic roll-call of the seventy-two Angels of all, in short, that cheated the mind in the TITIAN. 59 early days, we cannot help considering such pursuits as the spray dashed up by the adven- turous diver who boldly seeks the pearl of Truth in the troubled waters of Conjecture ! 60 TITIAN. CHAPTER IV. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. Lo ! how it runs, this friendship of the hour, Child-like in youth, omnipotent in power. Springs like the weed, yet mighty as the oak Strong as heart cherished or affection spoke. But now a stranger 'mid the lovely there, Pass a brief moment and their looks declare How much they like his voice, his words, his air ! THE Count Petigliano having informed his daughter Amicia di Orsino, and her cousin Beatrice, that he was desirous his secretary should be treated upon the equal terms of friendship, their invitation followed, that he would join their evening repast. This was within a week after his arrival, but Agrippa appeared incurious or uncourteous, for, at the TITIAN. 61 time, he declined the preferred introduction to their society, and requested the Count to plead his apology to the ladies. Piqued at this apparent want of courtesy, they now began to make more particular in- quiries concerning Agrippa. They were aware that, after the fashion of the time, when Speculation took the name of Philosophy, the Count amused himself with alchemical studies, in the absence of the active pursuits he had long been accustomed to, and they ascertained that Agrippa, (known to them as Carloni, the secretary), was in reality his assistant, if not his instructor. They had not yet seen him, and amused themselves in imagining what sort of a person he might be. They were so lonely in that huge palazzo, that the introduction of any new inmate and of the male sex, too, was what modern parlance would call " quite an event." We should have mentioned that the Count's daughter, Amicia, was little more than fifteen her cousin, two years older. Their curiosity had not very 62 TITIAN. long to wait, for, a few days after, when there came a natural thaw to the courtesy which had hitherto appeared frozen up, Agrippa promptly acceded to the Count's renewed offer of an introduction to the ladies of his house. The part of the palace appropriated to their use exhibited less costliness, indeed, but in- finitely more taste than characterized the gor- geousness of the state apartments, which were fitted up rather for show than occupation. There was richness in the furniture, the ornaments, the mirrors, and the tapestries of the whole edifice for all had been magnifi- cently provided at the cost of the State ; but, in the suite of rooms inhabited by the ladies, the arrangement, suggested by their own taste, was visibly superior. The ottomans were not too splendid for use, nor the tables too fragile in their beauty in a word, a welcome at- mosphere of domesticity appeared to pervade them, giving that cheerful, home-like appear- ance which is seldom present where womanly occupation is not without which, indeed, no place can be the abode of comfort. TITIAN. 63 Beatrice and Amicia had prepared to receive their guest with distant coldness ; but the intention was not adhered to. The Count had mentioned how little difference there was between the age of his secretary and their own, and the youth of Agrippa immediately in- terested them. He was, like them, in the very spring of life, and the magnet does not more surely and powerfully attract the needle, than youth, by some electric sympathy of soul, is attracted by youth. If the quiet easiness of his manner, the gentle fascination of his smile, and the grave earnestness of his low, clear voice, confirmed the impression which his youthful appearance had made, it was com- pletely established by. his frank confes- sion, spoken with a slight confusion, not quite unsuited to the occasion, that he felt how much pleasure he had lost by not having sooner availed himself of the happiness of becoming known to them. The apology was readily accepted, and, ere an hour had passed, they felt that the monotony of their daily life of seclusion was now interrupted in 64 TITIAN. as pleasant a manner as they could possibly desire. When the Count retired for the evening, with the words " I recom- mend the Signore Carloni to your kind- ness, if he is not already wearied of con- versation so very different from what his instructed mind is accustomed to," there was a smile upon each face as he closed the door. Already had there been established in that boudoir, a new Council of Three ! Agrippa was usually reserved and rather silent, but people of such a temperament, when cast into society in which they find or fancy sympathy, rapidly experience a transition which has the effect of making them at once agreeable and fascinating companions. The sunshine of the heart makes the spirit expand such a change did he now experience. He was perfectly free, too, from the presumption too common to youth, so ill-accordant with its pretensions, even when the highest talent exists. Indeed, it has generally been noticed that those who have most cause for such presump- tion display it least as a treasure-car makes TITIAN*. 65 les^ rattle in the streets than an empty carriage. How many a puny pretender affects the savant, while the immortal Newton's self-deprecating remark, at the close of that career which did so much for science, was "I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the sea-shore, and divert- ing myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me !" Agrippa's manners, from his early and pro- longed connexion with the Imperial Court were free from the mauvaise honte to which mere scholars are so apt to become subject. He could use that graceful badinage which wins rather than wounds ; he had wit, with its Summer lightnings, flashes of the mind, That shine, but harm not, arrows rosy-twined. And he was not unskilled in those elegant compliments, (some one has fitly called them " the small coin of conversation"), which are insinuated rather than expressed, and are often 66 TITIAN. more gratefully received and remembered than actual praise, for the sensitive mind shrinks from that, however merited. Nor should it be forgotten that, at least, as it is measured by years, he had barely passed from youth to manhood that his two companions were yet younger and that he came before them with the reputation of great acquirements and abilities. It is not very wondrous, then, if, as he endeavoured, he not only obtained plenary indulgence for the appearance of past discourtesy, but became more than a mere acquaintance of the fair beings with whom he sat. It would be strange, indeed, if from the sweet encouragement of such society, the mind does not produce thought and language far superior to what it may fling off in the coarser collision of less select company. When the ears thus drink in the clear and silvery music of woman's voice when the eye delightedly gazes upon her beauty when she yields her attention to what is spoken, and thus gives the best encouragement to speak the heart, TITIAN. 6/ soothed by her sympathy or sunned by her smiles, is certain to pour out the best thoughts in the best words. For there are two kinds of eloquence, one, springing from the stirring excitement of public events ; the other, purely conversational, arising, almost without an effort, from the soft inspiration of feminine society. The moment a man has the feeling " they un- derstand me," he is certain of using this easy and unconscious eloquence in the fair circle, and the smaller it is the better, whom he thus consi- dersintelligent. Wemayhavebeen tedious in this definition, but it was necessary to explain how Agrippa was influenced upon this evening. He saw that his conversation was listened to with pleasure, and, therefore, he tried to make it worth listening to ; had he been a much older man, he might have failed, for the effort at this result often makes a man dull and didactic, when he hopes to be particularly agreeable ! In this manner, a few hours passed on quickly ; it is only the hours of pain and care that have fetters to restrain their flight, and in 68 TITIAN. that brief time, the youthful trio had made mutual acquaintance, more intimate than colder, older, or less imaginative persons might have formed in half a life-time. It is peculiarly for the young, thus to plunge " in medias res" with their friendships ; and such are more stable, in general, than might be suspected upon first consideration. Let any one tax his memory unless, indeed, his be a heart which requires "proper introduc- tion" before it condescend to what it calls friendship and he may find that he owes his most agreeable, often his warmest, friends to the accident of an accident. A casual ren- contre a chance coincidence or difference* of opinion a slight service opportunely rendered, such are " trifles light as air," and yet such have led to many and fast friendships. Yon mighty river, which, with rapid swell, speeds on to mix its waters in the ocean (even as Time bounds on to be lost in Eternity) had its origin, like such friendships, from sources so small as to appear almost impossible. But TITIAN. 69 wary manhood hesitates to commit himself by any sudden yielding to his natural sympathies, while eager youth grasps at a friend as child- hood at a pleasure, and erects fair palaces for hope, out of dreams beautiful and fleeting as the Morgana of the Sicilian sea. The youthful Three ! Beatrice, Amicia, and Agrippa, they were already, if not actually friends, on the high road to friendship. Yet, there had been little of conversation, little of what would now pass for the currency of con- verse. There was no prating about the gauds of fashion no raking up the grey ashes of smouldering reputations no ingenuities of scandal no small talk, merely pour passer le temps. That their tastes were somewhat congenial was gradually ascertained, but this knowledge was understood rather than ex- pressed. They spoke of music, which had not then risen to be almost one of the languages of Italy of the semi-miracles of painting of the life-like creations of sculp- ture. They turned the thought-gemmed page 70 TITIAN. of poetry, and the tenderness of Petrarca led them to speak of the charms of Laura de Noves, the poet's lady-love, whose beauty and coldness he has perpetuated in his deathless verse. And then, when the pathos of the poetry had almost subdued her to tears, Bea- trice, smiling through them a poet might say, like sunshine through a summer shower took up her theorbo, at Agrippa's solicitation, and (for the twilight had now declined, and the moonbeams cast a long line of lustre upon the waters) sang the following words, which, however unartificial in structure, were certainly not inappropriate at that moment. THE SONG OF BEATRICE. The last sun -burst of glory Has faded away, And the rushing waves murmur A knell for the day; But a lustre more lovely Floods Heaven with delight For the moon has arisen, Bright queen of the night ! TITIAN. 71 Not a cloud is before her That lustre to blight, Not a shadow comes o'er her To lessen her light ; , But radiant her progress- One star by her side As she beams through yon azure, Earth's beautiful bride. Shine on, lovely planet, Unclouded and free ; Pour that soft beauty down On the land and the sea ; And while our rapt gaze To thy glory is given, Our hearts soar from earth And are with thee in heaven ! Beatrice blushed as Agrippa praised the ex- pression she had thrown into this simple air, and then they parted for the night. Young hearts quickly open, like flowers which unfold their petals to the early sunshine. No wonder if that evening was considered a pleasant one by all parties, or that it was " the first of a series" of yet pleasanter ones. Agrippa's time thus happily passed on; his mornings were dedicated to his studies, and to experiments 2 TITIAN. in the Count's laboratory ; in the afternoon, when the heat of the day had declined, he he visited the Basilicas, the Arsenal, the Campanile, the library of St. Mark (founded by Petrarch), the Ducal palace, or others of the many remarkable objects with which Venice is crowded ; his evenings he cheerfully surrendered to the hitherto unaccustomed de- light of free and familiar society in the Casa Petigliano. There was a winning charm in the conversation of the fair habitants there. Their naive yet naturally elegant manners, their richly cultivated minds, their graceful and subduing beauty, Which caught New loveliness from each new thought, their desire of knowledge, the liquid sweetness of their voices all these combined, from the first, to break down the barriers of his accus- tomed reserve, and make him happy in their society. Sometimes, when the beauty of the au- TITIAN. 7S tumnal evenings tempted, he had the privilege of accompanying them in their gondola, upon the water. Their masques would have suffi- ciently concealed them from recognition and notice, even if they had not the power of com- pletely effecting it, by drawing the curtains of the pavilion. Thus, chaperoned by Agrippa, they saw more of Venice than, without his aid they were likely to have seen, had they re- sided there for half a dozen lustra; thus they visited the shady garden of the convent in the little isle of San Secundo ; thus they often took their evening repast on one of the woody islands which stud the Lagune, with the rust- ling of the pines and the murmur of the waves for their music ; thus their friendship became more intimate and familiar ; and thus of Agrippa, it might truly be said, How happy the days of Thalaba went by I VOL. I. TITIAN. CHAPTER V. THE COUSINS. There's no miniature In her fair face, but is a copious theme Which would, discoursed at large of, make a volume. What clear arch'd brows ! what sparkling eyes! the lilies Contending with the roses in her cheeks Who shall most set them off. What ruby lips ; Or unto what shall I compare her neck, But to a rock of chrystal ? Every limb Proportioned to love's wish, and in their neatness Add lustre to the riches of her habit, Not borrow from it. MASSINGER. THE relationship between Amicia and Bea- trice di Orsino having already been indicated, let us endeavour to convey an idea of their respective merits, personal and mental. It may be best done now upon the threshold of a tale in which each of them will bear a part. TITIAN. 75 There were more points of resemblance than contrast between them ; for there was a likeness in their features and their minds. Both were fair but Amicia was lovely. They had more than ordinary accomplishments, in a time when the female intellect was much neglected, but the mind of Beatrice was self-cultivated by genius. Both were young. Beatrice, having just completed her seventeenth year, had the opening maturity of womanhood, Amicia had seen only fifteen summers, and, in that soft clime, it would be difficult to say whether she were child or woman. Beautiful as she was, her loveliness as yet was rather more of promise than completion. If I borrowed an illustration from song, I might apply to her part of Byron's delicately sketched description of Aurora Raby, as sweet a creature as poetry ever made immortal and speak of her as A young star wlio shone O'er life, too sweet an image for such glass ; A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded, A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded. E 2 76 TITIAN. A more brilliant blending of bright eyes and gentle accents of softness and gaiety of beauty and blandishment, heart could not ima- gine. Her features were like her father's "but softened into beauty." It was the mild ex- pression of her eyes that subdued her here- ditary hauteur of aspect. They were darkly, deeply blue, for her mother was one of the Colonna family, and the daughters of that ancient line have usually been distinguished by the rare, but not unpleasing contrast of dark hair, blue eyes, and a complexion delicately, almost dazzlingly, fair. Amicia di Orsino was exactly of the middle stature, and slightly formed. The long dark lashes which shaded her eyes reposed upon a cheek " carnationed like an infant's/' It was a natural mistake to think that those expres- sive and unfathomable eyes were black, but in their beauty was the deepest and darkest azure of the sky, whose richest hue they re- sembled ; it had been fancifully, but truthfully said of them, that they seemed dark in the TITIAN. 77 light, and bright in the shadow. Small white hands tiny feet, beneath whose airy tread the flowers would be rather disturbed than crushed graceful and gliding motions ; in short, to complete the sketch, there needs but Donne's delicate description of his mistress Her pure and eloquent blood Spoke in her cheek, and so distinctly wrought, That one might almost say her body thought ! It might be deemed that mirth was the characteristic of her mind for she scattered smiles around her like sunshine were it not that, at times, meditation, subdued almost to mournfulness, would usurp the ascendancy, until, at length, the overcharged heart would be relieved by tears. If a poet had seen her thus, he might say that, at such moments, her eyes were like violets upon which the May- dew yet lingered and glistened. The few shadows which had crossed her were only summer clouds, for grief was to her rather a thought than a reality ; and beholding that beautiful face, into which the pure and gentle 78 TITIAN. mind had visibly breathed itself, the heart would be impelled to pray almost involuntarily, that sorrow might never shade it. In the countenance of Beatrice there was less of beauty, but more of mind. It was pro- bable that, until she was known and appre- ciated, the eye, dazzled by the superior loveliness of the cousin, might either not notice her, or fancy that she was even almost plain. But, when she was known, the marvel would be how such features, soul illumined, could ever have been deemed other than beautiful. The dark eyes flashed with intelligence, the pale cheek glowed with enthusiasm, the brow looked the very throne of thought, the clear, earnest voice breathed forth its welcome words in all the sweetness of music and then the maiden might be truly said to " walk in light of her own making." For, after all, it is the mind that best displays the beauty, even as the sunshine brings out the full loveliness of the landscape ! It was for Amicia to conquer with a glance for Beatrice to steal gradually TITIAN. 79 into the heart. Amicia might lose a votary, but whom her cousin once won would ever be a captive ; for some maids, as the poet sings, weave nets while others make cages. Early in the sixteenth century, where a sovereign was sometimes unable to accomplish any greater feat in letters than that of making his sign manual, the education of females was much neglected ; nor, indeed, up to this hour, has Italy paid sufficient attention to the duty and necessity of cultivating the intellects of her daughters. Count Petigliano well knew the value of letters, although his troubled career had given him little leisure to cultivate them much, and gladly availed himself of the means which accident placed in his way for the instruction of his daughter and his niece. An Armenian caloyer, driven from his own land by persecution, had found a home, after many wanderings, at Vicenza, where Count Petigliano had resided some years previous to the date of this narrative. He became known to the Count, who, assured of his great attain- 80 TITIAN. ments, did not hesitate to intrust to the old man the education of the two whom he loved as dearly as he loved fame. If they were fortu- nate in such an instructor, the Armenian was not less so in the intellect of his pupils. He made them fully acquainted with the lore of their own sweet language, and opened to them much of the treasures which had descended from the poets and historians of the olden times. Amicia loved to amuse herself with the sweet lays of Petrarca, and the varied fancies of Boccaccio, (for the Decameron had not then been banned by that fastidious prudery which has more care for the seeming than the reality of things), rather than with the graver works which had greater attractions for her cousin. The surveillance of the Armenian ceased only with his life, which terminated a short time before the Count, summoned by the Seigniory to reside in Venice, withdrew his daughter and niece from the convent in which they had dwelt, almost since infancy had seen both of them motherless. TITIAN. 81 Far lovelier than their beaut)'- was the moral loveliness of the affection that linked them together: mutual confidings of feeling, gentle interchanges of thought, whisperings of hope, trusting love, over which rarely fell a gloom for if ever the shadow came, it was soon dispersed, like a thin cloud floating between the sun and the world his smile makes glad, a moment seen, and in a moment va- nishing. Both had early become orphans : Beatrice doubly so, and hence, perhaps, the greater intensity and gravity of her feelings. To be left alone in the wide world, with scarcely a friend this makes the sadness, which, striking its pang into the minds of the young and the affectionate, teaches them too soon to watch and interpret the spirit-signs of their own hearts. The solitude of the aged, when, one by one, their friends fall off, as fall the sere- leaves from the trees in autumn what is it to the overpowering sense of desolation which fills E 3 82 TITIAN. almost to breaking the sensitive heart of youth, when the nearest and dearest ties are severed ? Rendered callous by time and suffering, the old feel less, although they complain more ; the young, (C bearing a grief too deep for tears," shrine in their bosoms sad memo- ries and melancholy anticipations which of- ten give dark hues to their feelings in after- life. Having now arrived at an age when they more especially needed the kindly and watchful guidance of maternal solicitude, it was happy for them, that in the convent, where their youthful years had been passed, much care had been taken to instil principles of religion and virtue into their minds. It might be con- sidered fortunate also, that the same state of jealousy which, while it confided high com- mand to the Count Petigliano, prevented his associating with the Venetian nobles, except in the Council, or upon ceremonial occasions, when his attendance was requisite as part of TITIAN. 83 the pageant. Hence, the young Signoras, isolated from all intimacy with their own sex, were spared the contagion of evil example, and lived in the heart of the most voluptuous city in Europe, seeing little more of the world, its people, and its pleasures, than when they dreamed of it in the Convent at Vicenza. We shall not deny that they often entertained the wish to mingle in the gaiety which sur- rounded them ; and it had happened, more than once, when some cavalier took his place at midnight beneath adjacent balconies, and Breathing hope through walls of stone, a serenade sweetly broke the hushed silence, they had ventured to wonder whether, and when, such strains would be poured forth for them ! Such thoughts, more of conjecture than de- sire, could not long disturb or bewilder inno- cent hearts like theirs. Gladness sat upon 84 TITIAN. the forehead of Amicia, as upon the brow of Spring, and she grew beneath the eye of Beatrice like some sweet flower gently guarded, lest the air of Heaven should too roughly kiss it. For her, Beatrice long had blended the soft care of a mother with the sweet affec- tion of an elder sister, and when sleep pressed those lids, which seemed too beautiful for tears, Beatrice never sought her own pillow until her heart had breathed a blessing on the lovely child before her until her lips had kissed that cheek which the rosy charm of slumber had tinted with its richest and most delicate bloom. Both now felt how great was the solitude in which they had lived until the coming of Agrippa. They had awakened from the thoughtlessness of girlhood, and with that awakening came that longing for society which, at such a crisis, is but a natural desire and im- pulse of their sex. Never does the heart of Woman throb with a softer and yet more embar- TITIAN. 85 rassing thought, than when the sudden con- // sciousness is felt that she was born to love / I and to be loved. It is Nature's gentle and genial U instinct that whispers this, and makes the heart '< desire the sympathy it was created to awaken and to share. It is the first step into womanhood a step that falls lightly, as if on flowers. // Beautiful in infancy, when cradled by a y mother's arm ; in childhood, when her smiles and half-formed words are the solacing trea- sures of many a weary hour ; in girlhood, when the blossom is unfolding, rich with the glad promise of a thousand charms ; in womanhood, when, tremblingly by the altar, she speaks the vow she hopes will wed her to happiness ; in matron pride, with her olive branches round about her table ; in age, when her children's children play before her feet but far more beautiful is she when she just pauses on the narrow isthmus which separates the Girl from the Woman, and tremulously blushes into the purity and the feeling of maiden loveliness ! 86 TITIAN. But we have too long neglected Agrippa. It is scarcely possible to imagine a more fasci- nating, and, at the same time, a more perilous position than that in which he was now placed. He was completely domesticated with those young and interesting ladies, for the ill- health of Petigliano, gradually increasing, kept him almost wholly confined to his own apart- ments. That was the time, and Agrippa's was the age when the romance of life had its greatest, because its freshest charm, and, though much of chivalric observance had de- parted, the feeling of deep devotion to the sex remained. Agrippa found his heart uncon- sciously becoming more and more interested in his fair companions. Amicia had grown familiar with him as if he were a dear brother, and talked with him as if he had been the friend of years. Nor was this confidence so very wonderful, for, whatever his demeanour to his own sex, it was gentle, and even kind to woman. He looked upon Amicia as a child ; TITIAN. 87 of great promise, certainly, yet only a child ; and her quick apprehension readily saw how purely fraternal were his regards for her. Calmly as their life had hitherto flowed on, she felt that this calmness was not happiness, and was grateful to Agrippa for rippling the placid current. To be perfect, happiness must be shared. The pains of life serve, by contrast, to multiply enjoyment ; they make the foil which sets off" and heightens the flashing brightness of the gem. Sometimes, giving the rein to fancy, Amicia would invent some merry plot to cheat Agrippa and her cousin into sudden smiles. Again, she would be silent as night, while Beatrice touched her lute, or Agrippa told of other lands and people, or translated a romance, such as the Minnesingers had sang in his native Germany. Now, she would bend over the page of poetry, and, rapt in its charm, grow unconscious of all around her look again, and she was wreath- ing flowers into a fantastic chaplet with which, for the moment, to crown Beatrice as Flora ! 88 TITIAN. The full tide of her joyous and innocent feel- ings, thus released, one might wonder how a spirit so free, so bounding, and so happy could ever have been prisoned, or being so, could have been content in solitary life. If the society of Agrippa was thus a source of enjoyment to Amicia, it was much more to her cousin. What was pleasant to one, was happiness to the other. Beatrice found thrilling delight in thus basking, as it were, in the sunshine of an intellect whose trea- sures appeared exhaustless. If her words did not express this to Agrippa, proba- bly her looks might sometimes unconscious- ly do so; for while he smiled at the play- fulness of Amicia, his more grave conver- sation was for Beatrice. Respect is the truest homage of the heart ; his is quite un- touched who can merely " smile and smile." Agrippa felt himself compelled to acknowledge and admire the grasp of thought and energy of mind which distinguished Beatrice. The unobservant might think her taciturn, but TITIAN. 89 he had learned to read the eloquence of her dark eyes, and interpret the thoughts which lighted rather than coloured her cheek. He had learned, too, to draw her into conver- sation, and its quality may be judged from the fact that Amicia, who knew her so well, found daily cause for astonishment in the extent of her mental resources, and the brilliancy of her occasional remarks. 90 TITIAN. CHAPTER VI. THE STRANGER OF THE CAMPANILE. Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise, (That last infirmity of noble minds) To scorn delights, and live laborious days. MILTON. The way to fame is like the way to heaven through much tribulation. STERNE. WE have already said that, according to the wonted custom of strangers in that city, Agrippa employed a portion of his leisure in visiting the many remarkable places and ob- jects in Venice. One of his favourite re- sorts was the Campanile of St. Mark, if not the finest, certainly the most curious building there. A square, narrow tower of brick, TITIAN. 91 ornamented with cornices and small marble columns, it springs to the height of nearly three hundred feet, and is ascended, not by steps, but by a winding passage within the walls; an ascent so gradual, that there is a tradition of one of the French kings, who visited Venice, having ridden up to the first gallery of the bells.* From this part of the Campanile, nearly two hundred feet above the level of the sea, Agrippa loved to view Venice, with her Lagunes and Lido ; the fortresses and ports of Malamocco and Chiozza ; the Adriatic, washing the coasts of Italy and Dalmatia; the distant outlines of the Istrian and Friulian * The Campanile has been measured thus: each of its four sides is 25 feet broad ; from the base to the upper cor- nice, or gallery of the upper bells, 180 feet high ; thence, to the extremity, 160 feet more. The whole is surmounted by a long pyramid, covered with plates of copper, and on the top of this stands the figure of an angel, of the same metal, with his wings extended. The pyramid and figure were gilt, while the Republic had the reality or semblance of power, nd had a most brilliant appearance in the sunshine. It was Henry 111, of France, on his way to visit Venice, in 1574, who is said to have driven his carriage up to the gallery of the bells. 92 TITIAN. mountains, and the coast of Terra Firma. From each side of the open gallery of the Campanile is an admirable bird's-eye view of sea-shore and city, and our wonder is, that some artist has not, ere this, availed himself of such a position. We have innumerable views of the Campanile, the novelty would be a glance from it. Open to all who pleased to ascend it, and yet not much frequently visited even by strangers at that time, the Campanile was an especial place of resort for Agrippa. Some- times he beheld the prospect in the sunshine of noon, in which light the distances are as distinct as the foregrounds. Then, when the full tide swept on, covering the Lagunes, Venice well merited her name of the City of the Sea. Looking down towards the base of that tall tower, (which, nearly a century later, had the distinction of being used as an observatory by " the starry Galileo/') he could see a pano- rama composed of such picturesque details as are grouped in no place else : the Piazza, TITIAN. 93 with its tesselated pavement, on which, as a special compliment to Petrarch, a tournament had once been exhibited; the Merceria beyond it, with its labyrinth of narrow streets and its wealth of business ; the Basilica of St. Mark, with its mosque-like minarets and domes, its croM'd of porphyry pillars, its bright mosaics, and the celebrated Grecian horses over its central portico ; the Piazzetta, with the Ducal Palace upon one side, and the buildings of the Procuratorie on the other, and in the centre, near the quay, the two ophite columns, crown- ed with the winged lion of St. Mark, and the statue of St. Theodore, which had been brought from Constantinople, when Sebastiano Ziani was Doge. Then, too, the silence in the city, (for the crowds did not come out until the sultry mid-day heat was past) ; the sea, dotted with many a sail ; the standard of St. Mark heavily waving from the armed galeass, which was continually stationed op- posite the isle of San Giorgio Maggiore, with the prow turned between the great columns of 94 TITIAN. the Piazzetta, next the quay of which the galley was moored ; the gondolier!, Ruffling with many an oar the chrystal deep, their gay dresses relieved by the green of the water, and the azure of the sky ; the sunshine, bringing out the colouring with dazzling bril- liancy, and the very shadows illuminated by the reflected brightness from the waves, " making light in light/' as Goethe has described it; and the pigeons, in hundreds, fluttering on quick pinions from the roof of the Ducal Palace to the cupola of the Basilica, thence dashing at full speed through the open galleries of the Campanile,* unawed by the * Every one who has been at Venice must have remarked the pigeons who flutter from the Campanile to the Ducal Palace, and thence to the roof of the church of St. Mark. In the Lettere su Venezia, by Signor Dandolo of Varese in the Milanese, (published a few years ago), will be found the following account of these birds : " In truth, in these pristine days of the city, it was customary to celebrate Palm Sunday with peculiar ceremonies ; amongst others, birds were turned loose from the Basilica, so encumbered about the legs with weights proportioned to their respective TITIAN. 95 presence of man in that lofty solitude, and retreating back to their nests in the Piombi, free and fearless in their flight, sometimes the only living things the eye could see in that meridian sunshine. Beautiful as was this prospect in the day time, Agrippa would often visit the Campanile when the glow and glare had gone by and the bright hues were somewhat toned down. Immediately before twilight, if the tide had ebbed, the watery mirror of the Lagunes disappeared, the islands which seemed like sizes, that, after fluttering awhile, they must necessarily drop down in the Piazza the populace struggling among themselves to seize these birds, offering a most animated spectacle. The poor animals, when about to drop, alarmed by the noise, redoubled their exertion, and whilst hands were dashed out on all sides to clutch them, many, by short and useless flights, only prolonged their misery, amidst the dizzy uproar of the crowd; but some, contriving to shake off their burthens, took refuge on the roof of the neigh- bouring palace. There they remained ; there they increased and multiplied, and the tiny commonwealth excited such compassion, that, by the universal will, subsequently em- bodied in a decree, they thenceforward, were not only re- spected, but amply fed with corn at the public charge." 96 TITIAN. specks upon it, appeared grey mounds in the midst of .green marshes, covered with weeds, and intersected by the canals. It was the Venice of the morning and yet, how diffe- rent ! But at night ! it was then that he saw Venice as herself. Then hurried forth the mightiest and the meanest, equally intent on the pursuit of pleasure. Then glanced by the frequent gondola then sounded the lute then arose the song of the serenader; and, from the mid-air height of the lofty Campanile, amid, and yet removed from the scenes which such phases of life were exhibited, Agrippa frequently used to behold the features which folly or pleasure there assumed. There, at such hours, he was seldom intruded on, for the post was a solitary one, and if a Venetian keep; an hereditary hatred for any thing, it is for that worst of company his own. But that could scarcely be considered intrusion, where the place was open to all least of all, where courteous words, in the liquid dialect of TITIAN. 97 Venice, spoke apology to the stranger. To this day, the Venetians are remarkable for the blandness of their address for the difficult and desirable art of setting a stranger at ease by a word, almost by a look. Three centuries ago, they excelled the French in politesse, for the pride of prosperity led them to make the display of courtesy a thing of course. To the few whom Agrippa met in the Campanile, his manner was courteous in return with some of them (but this was rare,) he conversed on the light and current topics of the day ; for he knew that, in Venice, where almost every man played espial on his neighbour, it was unsafe to talk of more serious subjects. Such was his skill in languages, that, except by the difference in the local dialect, he might have been taken for a Venetian as it was, few thought him a German, for he spoke pure Tuscan. One evening, after he had thus been watching how the moonlight softly bathed palace and church, sea and shore, with silvery sheen, he leant in abstracted thought, over the mid- VOL. I. F 98 TITIAN. gallery, and scarcely heeded the hum of the crowd beneath. His meditation was broken, after a time, by a sigh such as the mourner wearily breathes when care sits heavily on the heart. Advancing from the shade, which had screened him, he perceived a cavalier leaning against the opposite balcony. The noise of the movement drew the attention of this person to him, and advancing a pace or two he said to Agrippa, " Believe me, Signore, that when I ascended here, a few minutes ago, I had no intention of intrusion. There was no at- traction for me in the crowd below, and I came hither to muse in the stillness which this tower enjoys, even in the midst of revelry, upon hopes and fortunes which it has pleased God to render alike unhappy." Agrippa's reply, although brief, was in the soothing tone and words of sympathy, and there needed no more introduction, in that land of courtesy. Soon they launched into the current of conversation, and each was pleased with a discourse in which there was more ease TITIAN. 99 and frankness than mere strangers are wont to display on a casual meeting. When they had thus conversed for some time, Agrippa gallery did not enable him to distinguish the features of his new acquaintance, there was something in the tone of his voice familiar to the ear. " I must have met you somewhere, Signore, and I have been tasking my memory, for the last five minutes, to discover where. Perhaps, you may be able to inform me if I am right ?" " If I am not mistaken/' said the other, " we were fellow-voyagers for a short time, a few weeks ago." " What ! my acquaintance of the Brenta ? Well met, Signore. I have often thought upon you since, and wondered whether the good fortune which gave me your company, at that time, would procure me a renewal of the boon. By the body of Diana ! you may see that I have already picked up a Venetian expletive I am rejoiced to meet you; but you spoke F 2 100 TITIAN. despondingly, just now methinks you have met with some misfortune since we parted ?" " With none except the continuance of evil days. In the sunshine, when away from Venice, and when cheered by my kind friend Signor Barberigo with the hope of brilliant success in the Art which I pursue, my spirits became buoyant, and I forgot the sad reality of what is in the gay day-dream of what may be. I return home, to my hopeless struggle and my sordid dwelling, and my mind becomes depressed. You may thus see why, when I met you first, it was not easy to perceive that disappointment had wrung me, and that care had been my constant visitant. " Yet," said Agrippa, " I never saw a face in which I could more plainly read that triumph, great and enduring, must be achieved by the mind which had strikingly marked it." " The features are not infallible in their ex- pression. In this instance, they have certainly misled you." TITIAN. 101 " I think not. The temperaments, if not the very conditions, of men may be judged by lineaments of their faces. From the most an- cient times, this has been believed and exer- cised. According as to the planets under which each man may be born, will be his tem- perament. The shape of the features, and their expression afford sufficient ground for forming a judgment. The low furrowed brow does not more clearly indicate mean and sen- sual faculties than the high and open forehead declares noble and expanded intellect. There is scarcely a day in which, almost involuntarily, we are not impressed favorably or the reverse as to the temper and talents of whom we en- counter, even by the first casual glance at their countenances. Sculpture and painting derive their truth from a closer observation. And it is only carrying it on a little further to ascer- tain the probable result which such temper and talents may effect as to the fortunes of the in- dividual. Let me hope, seeing success written plainly upon your countenance, that you have 102 TITIAN. unconsciously exaggerated the disappointments you may have met ?" " I spoke only as I have had too much cause to feel. The mirror that accident dashes on the ground is not more shattered than my hope. Partial failure of my expectations, I think I could have borne, but to see all my aims baffled, and to feel that I had cause for trusting some of them might prosper, is enough to make me despair. If I speak of myself, you have led me to do so, and the voice of sympathy is now so new to me that my feel- ings will overflow into utterance when it meets my ear." Agrippa hastened to assure the cavalier, that he did him no more than justice, as indeed he was sincere in the hope that one who appeared so worthy was more fortunate than his words denoted. " For my own part," he continued, " I, too, have known how bitter a thing is disappoint- ment, and, therefore, I can understand what pangs wring the quick bosom when it comes. TITIAN. 103 And now, Signore, let me tax your courtesy to acquaint me with your calling." "It may be a vain speculation," said the other, "but it is just possible that my name may have reached your ear before. I am a painter, my name is Tiziano Vecelli." '" What ! that same Titian of whom our own excellent Albert Durer ever loves to speak, as combining the loftiest genius with the most patient industry? The same Titian, some of whose works, as I once before told you, he last year brought hence to Germany, and pre- sented to the Emperor Maximilian, for I my- self have seen them in his private cabinet? The same" " To whom, if Venice afford some scanty praise, she denies bread ; who might have starved, ere now, but for the charity (the more agreeable name is patronage) of one of her nobles. Yes, Signore Carloni, you behold that same Titian." u Can this be possible ?" said Agrippa, after a pause, in a tone of deep concern. 104 TITIAN. " I only know," replied the painter, with bitterness, "that it is true. It is something, however, to know that in the transmontane countries which our Italian pride considers barbarous and uncouth, I have won something however trifling of a name. This is one con- solation amid many troubles. I do not know what may be the limit of my life, it will pro- bably not be a long one, but I would willingly give all my future years, few or many, for one hour in which to see the fulfilment of my desire." " It may be less distant than you deem." " No !" said Titian. " You cannot now de- ceive me with hope, for I have ceased to deceive myself." Agrippa attempted to solace him by talk of better and brighter days, and said :